


Prompt: "Tango"

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...just... Tango. I'll provide you the original piece for this whenever I find this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt: "Tango"

**Author's Note:**

> The first one on a probably-very-long list of badfics. That's what this account is for after all.  
> 

You had met him at the tango studio about 10 years ago, and now you were back. He had bought the studio, which was now empty after the workshop had moved. The drapes were run and dusty, and the windows were shut and full of cobwebs. The wooden floor, which hadn't been swept in at least five years, now cracked under your shoes, and it echoed in the empty room.  
He takes you by the hand and leads you to the center of the room, where you had first danced together one Friday night. There's no music. Still he takes your hand and stretches his right arm, making your left move with it. His right hand moves to your other hand, which is placed on your waist, and it takes you by surprise. You let him lead you and move your hand to his shoulder.  
His first step finds you distracted. You lean onto him to avoid falling, and just leave your head, tipped to the side, pressed onto his upper chest, and feel his steady breath on your hair. His left thumb, with his hand still holding on to yours, moves around the lower articulation of yours, and the friction of the skin makes you quiver and get goosebumps. For a couple seconds you're disoriented and lost in a wave of his perfume, but when you snap back to your senses, you take control.  
You kick your left leg around his right and move it up and down his leg, which surprises him. You look up at him and see him grin, and that's when he moves his right leg to make you fall back onto his arm, and leave you hooked on his arm, looking up into his face and his blonde curtain of hair, pushed to the left forcefully, reflecting the little moonlight coming in through the window. His blue eyes look down at you like they had the night you met, and you remember, and can't take no more. With the strength of your left arm, holding on to his right, you pull yourself up, high enough to kiss him and run your remaining hand through his hair. He doesn't drop you; he picks you up, and positions you straight leaning on him. Pulling off just the amount of time needed to make you twirl on your spot, he softly grazes his fingertips from one of your shoulders to the other. You twirl as fast as you can, spinning your way back to his lips.  
You didn't notice he had stopped holding you by the waist, but he is now holding a wine bottle on his left hand. Never stopping the dance, he makes you twirl to the other side, and you spin away long enough to watch him, already staring lustily at his concentrated face, open the bottle.  
He now holds two small shot glasses. How does he do that? He hands you one, pouring the wine in both glasses in one same motion.  
Leaving the wine bottle on the bar, he entwines your arm on yours and drinks off his glass, at the same time, you drink off yours, never taking your eyes off each other's.  
You've never noticed his eyes when he drinks before. His pupils become bigger, and that cerulean blue becomes lighter, like the deep side of the pool being hit by noon sunlight. You fall, if it was possible, a bit more in love with him.  
He untwirls his arm from yours and the touch of his hand on your bare lower arm plus the feeling of the strong wine gives you goosebumps again. You feel warmth in your throat, not knowing if because of the alcohol or because of him. You crave for more of both, and take a gulp off the bottle, splashing your lips, before kissing him, and smearing the blood-red drink on his lips.  
His hand, previously on your back, slides under the hem of your shirt, startling you. He nods towards the bar and pushes you back towards it, pinning you to the wall, and taking the wine bottle off your hand. He takes the last swig and drops it to the floor. It shatters, and whatever red liquid remained inside forms a small pool on the wooden floor. That's going to leave a mark, you think.  
He seems to think the same, because he starts kissing the edge between your shoulder and your neck, powerfully. That's definitely going to leave a mark. You grasp the back of his neck with your hand, and softly graze your fingernails across. He lets out a loud breath and moves on with his kissing until he reaches your wine-stained lips again.  
For some minutes you stay that way, happy enough not to change. But then, he does something, you're unsure what, that triggers something on you. You wake again and pull at his hair, and at the same time reach back for the nearest red curtain, ripping it off the wall and making it lie on the floor. You put your hand on his lower back, under his shirt, which makes him submissive to you, and makes this the right moment for you to push, spin him around and push him to the floor, over the curtain. You lie above him, hands still on his grey shirt.  
You swear to yourself you could spend years staring into his eyes and still never get bored, never want to stop. You feel him reaching up for your lips, and ignore it the first times, lost in the rhinestone blue of his eyes; but after three or four tries from him to reach to you, you give in, and entwine yourself again with the red courtain on the floor and his clothes and his skin and the smell of his perfume on his blonde hair.


End file.
